


My Hope, My Destroyer

by BrutalWarElf



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Depression, Drug Addiction, M/M, PTSD, Psychosis, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrutalWarElf/pseuds/BrutalWarElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toki and Skwisgaar are not dealing with the aftermath of DOOMSTAR. Depression and PTSD are a bitch and crystals meth is not all rainbows and sparkles either. Toki gets sorely needed treatment and the whole universe is trying to tell Skwisgaar he’s been missing something important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My hope, my destroyer

_Tired and lonely. Sitting and staring_   
_Weak and filthy. No longer caring_   
_Wasting to nothing. The rubble of you_   
_Hoping for something. Poison where love grew_

_My hope, the destroyer – My Dying Bride_

He processes the dumbest things when he’s afraid; the crisp rustle of his immaculate suit, the hurried click of his dress shoes on the flagstones of the cavernous room. The gripping, icy fingers clawing into his chest are reserved for nightmares, later.

The ghost of his breath still plays across his fingers. There is still time. Drag his lifeless body to the bed. What does he need? A bodybag- no, that’s not helpful, there’s still time. Is that glue in his hair? Focus. Oh shit, how much longer is this rush going to last? He needs to be high so he can think clearer. 

Assess the situation, alcohol, broken glass. What does he need? Is the coma caused by the alcohol abuse or by what it’s done to his blood sugar? Ketoacidosis, he remembers the word.

Insulin. Where does he keep it? Where does he keep it, goddamn it, think, Skwisgaar, you know him best. This was the worst time to have used. Why haven’t you kept a better eye on him, you self-absorbed asshole? First that mess with Magnus and now this, you have a responsibility to that kid, because he has none. He may be steel berneath his childish exterior but even steel corrodes and fatigues after enough wear.

How many shots? Just one, to begin with. Roll the bottle, septic wipe. Where are his track marks? Abdomen. This is easy, easier than heroin. Hurry the fuck up, clumsy fingers. 

Pull the plunger, pinch the skin, fuck, how is he still this thin? Stab at an angle, push it in, leave 5 seconds after injecting.

 

‘Hej, hej, hej, Toki!’ Thank god thank god. ‘Get up, get your ass to the bathroom you crazy drunk.’

 

Fuck the suit. Tiles grate against his kneecaps as he sits beside him in front of the toilet bowl because prevention is better than washing chunks out of his hair.

One hand gathers the fine, flat strands and one hand steadies him at his back while gallons of throw-up splatter against the porcelain.

Shit, Skwisgaar keep it together, don’t gag, oh god, this is gross.

‘Goddamn it, you fucktruck dildo, didn’t you remember we have that douchebag industry party?’

Toki heaves and gags and he’s so disgusting, Christ, he should have sent in Pickles. That guy is up to his neck in vomit most days anyway and this really isn’t Skwisgaar’s forte. The smell of stale sweat and alcoholic vomit comes too early, he is not wasted enough to deal with this.   

‘Are you done?! ‘Cause I am about done with you- here, drink this you dumb child.’

He should let go of that hair now. His hand slides down Toki’s arm before falling to his side. He’s starting to shake.

‘You need another shot?’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you do, sit down. Keep drinking.’

He pushes Toki’s legs apart to kneel between them and it’s gay as hell as he rucks up his shirt to find an inch of skin that doesn’t already have scars. His left hand plays across the ridges automatically until he finds a smooth expanse.

Toki just sits there like a dumb animal as he jabs the needle in the fold, completely void of reaction to the sting. Skwisgaar thinks he understands, in a way, the scars from floggings and stabbings jumping out at him. The prick of a needle is insignificant in comparison, and he suddenly feels so sad and so worn out on Toki’s behalf.

‘How can you stand it?’ His voice betrays more emotion than he’s comfortable with but there you have it.

‘Sometimes there are things that make up for it.’ Toki croaks. ‘You guys. You came for me, in the end.’

 _In the end_  sounds reproachful to Skwisgaar’s ears even if Toki’s voice does not mean to convey that.

‘And other times?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Today?’

‘Ja.’ The admission is flat and toneless, as usual of late.

Toki waits him out. Is he still drunk, or catatonic, or is Skwisgaar crossing a line here?

He draws back, ashamed about his inadequate attempt to reach out to him. Toki would have been better off if he would have come for him sooner, or if he had shielded him from that lowlife Magnus in the first place.

‘Where’s your suit?’ He hides his face in Toki’s closet. Here he is; cursing like a sailor at the person who needed his support most while he partied around the world to forget about him. This must be an all-time low even to his moral standards.

‘I’m not going, Skwisgaar.’ It’s a plea.   

‘That’s not an option. They’ll think we made it up that you’re back.’ That, and you’re on suicide watch.

No response, again. The curtain of his hair separates them as surely as the bars on a prison would and Toki is locked inside. Is that it?

‘You aren’t all the way back, are you?’

It might take at least as long for him to find his way out of the darkness in his mind as it took for them to decide to go and find him. They could have had him out in days, but they let him rot for weeks while they buried their responsibility beneath clouds of drugs and alcohol.  

And he, he was just as guilty as Magnus for the state Toki was in.

Toki’s pale eyes are dead to the world when they meet Skwisgaar’s, and he knows he hit close to home.

‘Here’s the deal. I need to go, and I’m not leaving you. So you’re coming. We’ll make it brief and hang out afterwards.’ Getting laid could wait.

He lays out Toki’s suit on the bed while he showers.

‘Let’s go, slowest-guitar-player-in-the-world, we were supposed to be there an hour ago!’ He calls while knotting Toki’s black silk tie around his own neck and testing the fit.  

 

‘Well, well, look who finally decided to show up.’

‘Toki and Skwisgaar are an hour late and Skwisgaar spent some time on his knees by the looks of his shoes, does anyone want to take bets on what happened?’

He would not have laughed about that joke under any circumstance, but today it was extra unamusing. 

‘Guys,’ Nathan’s exasperated growl comes from behind. ‘Can we get this over with?’

He stands by as Nathan lies through his teeth to the gathered press and music industry execs. Toki’s hand is cold and clammy when he briefly touches it behind Nathan’s broad back.

It’s like a funeral except the dearly departed stands between them in line to receive condolences along with the next of kin.  

Boring, boring, I’d do her, fuck off, I’d do her, dumb dildo, boring dildo, dumb but doable, get the fuck away from Toki you intrusive twat. He ticks their steady stream of well-wishers off in his mind. Toki has plastered on a smile and is doing his best to appear collected and sober, but the cracks are starting to show in his rigid stance and his jerky movements. Any moment now he is going to either crash or blow.

He snatches the glass of whiskey out of Toki’s hands and marches him to the closest bathroom. Toki looks terrible in the clinical light, pasty and sweaty and so hollow. He empties the whiskey in the sink and hands the glass back to Toki with water in it.

‘We’re getting the fuck out of here; this party is dildos and douchebags all around. I hope you’ve got your favourite movie picked out, because you know I have terrible taste.’ He’s rambling, but he can’t leave him alone until he knows he’s going to be okay. And that might be a while.   

 

It’s nice to huddle underneath his furs in their sweats to watch his massive flat screen. Normally he would have picked the living room to avoid dumb sleepover shit like pillow forts Toki was probably into, but this called for an exception. Tellingly, there were no pillow forts.

Two hours into ‘The Hobbit’ Skwisgaar had texted the IT department to get him a high-res copy of the sequel whatever it took. Toki finally seemed to be coming back to himself, under a steady stream of cups of coffee and quiet small talk.

He sounded almost like his Toki, morbid humour back in place, halfway through the desperation of that one dragon. Whatever. The Hobbit 2. Skwisgaar was too fucking high to process all the detail of the film.

‘That guy kind of looks like you, Skwisgaar.’

‘Who, that elf? He looks like a dick.’

‘Ja.’

‘Way to speak to the guy who just pulled your ass out of the hotbox.’

‘That right there was a dick move. You’re so controlling, I can’t even die without you wanting to have a say in it.’

‘Diabetic coma is not a brutal way to die.’

‘Oh, you would rather have cleaned my blood out of the tub?’

‘We have people for that.’

‘You’re a dick.’

‘I’ll grant you that one.’ Now would be a good time to admit his faults and beg for forgiveness. This could not keep standing in between them for the rest of their lives.

You’re right, Toki, I am a dick for leaving you in Magnus’ grasp, bla bla bla, error of my ways… What the fuck could he say and expect this to be even remotely alright?

‘Toki, I - ’ For fuck’s sake, he could not do it. How could he crush Toki's last remaining shred of belief that his friends had his back? Toki did not deserve that cruel truth on top of everything else. ‘-missed something. Why are the elf and the dwarf having a pissing contest?’

 


	2. Sorrow throughout the nine worlds

_Nightmares_  
Demons haunt my taunted mind  
I'm scared  
My death's forseen ungloryful  
Please Father  
Make my demons disappear  
Please Mother  
Death is everywhere

_Sorrow throughout the nine worlds – Amon Amarth_

He was so angry; it was hard to make sense of the cause. Angry at still being alive, angry at his friends for forcing him out into the world again so soon and angry at Skwisgaar for force-feeding him so much coffee that he had woken up and needed to leave his comfortable pillow fort to take a piss. He should have flushed the goddamned insulin.

Skwisgaar sprawled on the other side of the bed, his normally disapproving mouth relaxed by the grace of deep sleep. Last night’s movies were still playing on a loop on the muted TV and a red dawn started creeping through the window.

When he climbed back into bed he did not bother to share the covers. He had found Skwisgaar attractive once, irresistible even, and would have leapt at the chance to share his bed in every sense of the word. Now, he could not find any particular joy in it.

Even though Skwisgaar did not owe him anything, every slut, everything he prioritised above him had deadened him a little inside. He had dreamt of Skwisgaar in his captivity, of how he was when they were younger. Dressed in white, beautiful, kinder, purer. A burning angel, a seraph.

He could live with not being anyone’s priority in the absence of pain, but those two always seemed to go hand in hand. Devotion to his parents got him the lash, trusting in friends gotten him stabbed in the back and dehumanizing captivity. Eating from a dog bowl, chained to the floor. Hanging upside down on an inverted cross.

The recurring theme in his narrative seemed to be that loving got you punished. Well, he could not find a shred of love in him anymore, but that was not enough to keep the pain at bay. There was plenty that ran deeper than the welts on his back.  

If he wasn’t allowed to off himself in the face of this hellfest he should at least maintain a comfortable liquor-induced stupor.

A search of the room failed to yield any alcohol, so oblivion would be the next best thing. Fingers crossed that sleep would remain dreamless.

 

Skwisgaar had turned into a peculiar brand of stalker since the night of the press conference. He rarely left Toki alone, except to get high. Skwisgaar had practically moved him into his room for constant surveillance; his clothes and things were all over Skwisgaar’s stuff. He had only slept in his own bed once this week, when Skwisgaar had crashed hard before dusk had even set in.

He was finally ‘sleeping’ with Skwisgaar, and oh, the irony, was too depressed to even feel the faintest echo of the want that had once set him on fire with every look and touch that passed between them. Though it had been torture at the time, he would kill to feel that alive again, just for a little while. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been aroused enough to get a physical reaction. He had lost the function somewhere during his captivity.

Skwisgaar still kept him up late at night, but not in the good way. His modus operandi with anything these days was philosophical speeches and obsessive tirades that only made sense to him. Some nights he would just keep going until daybreak and beyond, others he would crash for long periods of time.

The drug use worried Toki when he was sober enough to process it, but against the backdrop of the rest of his issues, those worries just merged into an incoherent sense of foreboding. When he drank it faded out of memory entirely. He didn’t know what Skwisgaar was using and frankly he didn’t really care, because it made him intensely focused – on Toki. Which was sort of a good thing. They had never been this close before. He liked being the focus of Skwisgaar’s attention, and he didn’t mind the constant company.

He was maintaining a comfortable buzz with a bottle of vodka while watching Skwisgaar compulsively practice arpeggios. It was still better than being alone with his thoughts.

‘Toki, grab your guitar, you need to do this too.’

‘No, thanks.’ That goddamned thing was the reason he drank. Funny, how an inanimate object played such a significant role in most of his traumatic experiences. Getting kicked out on the street, being bait for Dethklok. He was completely reconciled with the idea of never touching a guitar again before he died, rather sooner than later.

The fingers flying aggressively over the strings stopped abruptly.

‘Grab your guitar! You played dildos before and you haven’t picked it up since you’ve been back. As long as you’re still breathing and in Dethklok you have a duty!’ Skwisgaar roared, his face inches from Toki’s. His breath smelled like he had drunk a glass of window cleaner.

Even in his sweats and damp hair he looked intimidating enough to set off an air-raid alarm in Toki’s head. His brain was screaming at him to get the fuck out of here because Skwisgaar felt wrong wrong wrong, but it took a couple of aborted attempts for his intoxicated limbs to catch up. He gave Skwisgaar a one-handed shove that lacked his former strength and ran unsteadily, bare feet slapping across the flagstones.

‘Come here and fucking practice!’

It was terrifyingly out of character how Skwisgaar stalked him down the hallway like he was dinner.

‘Skwisgaar, you’re scaring me!’ He screeched hysterically before bolting the door to his room in his face.

Sliding down against the door to block it with his weight he heaved loud gulping sobs while Skwisgaar rattled the door handle with intense concentration for what felt like an hour.

The rattling eventually stopped and he half heard, half felt Skwisgaar slide down the other side of the door. Faint scales changed into the solo for Into the Water, repeating over and over, increasing in speed.

‘Grab your guitar, Toki!’

This was not real, was it? That maniacal voice was unmistakable.  He was still in the dungeon and Magnus had managed to make him believe his friends had saved him to mess with his head. An exquisite torture. He must admit, it was nothing if not creative genius.

Fear was pumping through his veins to the sound of Skwisgaar’s guitar and he could not stop his hopeless crying. Was he never going to get out of here?

A distant thud followed by silence gave him pause.

His eyes stung like a bitch once the tears stopped, and bleakly wondering what that silence meant for him. There was no physical pain, what were they waiting for? He felt the gaze of two mismatched eyes prickle on his skin, assessing.

Heavy footsteps sounded down the hall and someone stopped in front of his door with a grunted ‘What the HELL?’

That growl… blazing eyes in a metal face.

A sound like the Explorer clattering across the tiles. He had to dismiss that, those guitar sounds weren’t really here. Slaps of skin on skin, but no pain for him. Had they turned on Abigail? 

‘Toki, are you in there? Toki, come on out. Toki? Sorry we didn’t warn you about this. Did he scare you? Hurt you?’

If he didn’t react, that might take the sport out of it for them.

‘Pickles, it’s Nathan. Skwisgaar’s crashed again. Yeah, in front of Toki’s door. Uhuh. Yeah, get your ass over here.’

Pacing, a second set of steps.

‘What a douchebag. I’ll have the doctor admit him to that rehab place. Enough is enough. Is Toki in there? Should we, you know, do something?’

‘Give him a minute, we’ll check on him after we take care of Skwisgaar.’

It was working, they were leaving him alone. He had a minute before they came back. There was only one way out and it led through Satan’s backyard. What did he have to work with?

 

 

‘Tell me, Toki,’ the kind-faced psychiatrist said, ‘have you had any suicidal thoughts this week?’

‘Not since the meds kicked in, and that was, what- a week ago?’

‘That’s good to hear. Do you feel like the mirtazepine is at a good dosage for you?’

Nod.

‘You know you can always take some lorazepam if you’re feeling really bad, right?’

Nod.

‘Do you still have enough sleeping pills?’

‘Ja.’

‘Okay. Earlier this week we talked about what happened to you when you were held hostage, right? Today it might be good to talk about what happened the day before your friend – Skwisgaar? – went to rehab.’

‘It was the drugs, I think. He-’ Cold sweat started pooling under his arms and he shivered. It had been weeks, but it was still hard to relay. ‘the way he yelled at me was a lot like… Made it hard to tell what was real. It reminded me of… I felt like I was somehow still _there_ , I wasn’t out at all. I thought the only way I could ever get out of their grasp was…’ He mimicked a slicing motion.

‘And,’ she glanced at his file, ‘Nathan found you with that?’ She nodded at his scars. ‘You said during the intake that you don’t actively recall that part, you still don’t?

Nod. Nod, goddamnit. The shattering bottle, the slosh of vodka, the shards, the blood, Nathan’s panicked voice; she didn’t need to hear that.

‘Hm. Have you spoken to Skwisgaar since?’

‘I’m not allowed.’ He didn’t know where he was, his number was out of service. He had called so many times. ‘They keep telling me to stay away from him- for my own sake.’

‘But you miss him.’

Don’t cry, shit shit fuck.

‘Talk to me about your relationship with him. How does he make you feel?’

 


	3. Swansong for a raven

_I scream through my bars at the stars_   
_That for these crimes of mine solace me_   
_I will fear not the flames_   
_That to passion are tame_   
_Not nearly the same searing pain_

_Swansong for a raven - Cradle of Filth_

 

‘Alright, Mr Skwigelf, your toxscreen is looking good, so you know what that means!’ The nurse said in the cheerful tone she used to address all the inpatients. She was hot, but he did not mind the lack of special treatment. He wasn’t here to fuck nurses. Even if he was, his system was still fried from the meth anyway. He couldn’t feel a damn thing.

A clean toxscreen meant he finally got to make a phone call. He had suffered through a month of gruelling detox and behavioural therapy waiting for this moment. Ordering his thoughts and impulses, giving his stunted emotions a place, finding coping strategies that did not involve getting shitfaced; he was a ready as he’d ever be to face a monumental apology.

‘Here are your antibiotics. You know where the phone is, right?’

Don’t wink when you’re passing out my STD meds, lady. That’s just weird. Still, it was about time he got treatment for those. He could start with a clean slate when things were up and running again.

The staff here was very capable, but he needed some real company. Nathan had visited him once, when he was still laid up with the withdrawal symptoms and he couldn’t really talk. He had been starved and dehydrated from completely neglecting his body in favour of staving off the hangovers with more meth. He had been so sick with the agony of withdrawal that he had hoped on multiple occasions that the process would kill him.

But he had listened to Nathan, and subsequently wept like a child when he had told him about Toki. It was extremely painful to contemplate that he was directly responsible for almost losing him.

He hadn’t spoken to Toki sober since before the abduction. Through the haze of the drugs he could not even remember with clarity what he had sounded like, what he had looked like. Yeah, he remembered the scars, the ribs, the smell of stale sweat and alcohol. The lifeless quality of his hair, his dead eyes.  

Missing him, as he used to be, was becoming a permanent dull ache in his chest. It had taken up residence next to the fear he had irreparably damaged something in Toki- and between the two of them. What would be left of him? Had anyone stepped up to care for him where he had failed?

Would he even want to talk? Better not get his hopes up that he would pick up. But he had to try, because Toki deserved to hear him say he was sorry even if he couldn’t forgive him.

 

Toki picked up on the fifth ring. He sounded exhausted and bitter.

‘You have reached the voicemail of Toki Wartooth. I’m currently trying to make the most of my Temazepam. Press one if you’re a coked out lunatic who needs something.’

 _Shit_.

Say something.

‘…and what if you’re clean and you just want to talk?’

‘Skwisgaar? Is that you? Oh, fuck, sorry, I thought it was Dr Rockso. God, I didn’t mean to be insensitive, I’m so glad to hear your voice.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Wait, what time is it at your place?’

‘How- what-? Shit, sorry I- can you give me a minute?’ Static crackle, and the distant sound of heartbroken hiccupping. And when had it started raining on his face?

‘Toki, I miss you so much.’ He’d meant to say he was sorry, but this seemed more urgent. ‘I wish I could come over and see if you’re okay.’

The soft wail of Toki’s pent up sorrow was his only response, and for a long time they let their hitching breath convey what they could not put into words.

Clock’s ticking, pull yourself together. Steady breaths. ‘How are things- at Mordhaus?’

‘Skwisgaar, where are you? Those motherfuckers won’t tell me.’ It sounded like he was at the end of his rope. The others were keeping his whereabouts from Toki and he hadn’t reached out for a month.

‘I don’t want to cause any trouble.’

‘Please.’

‘Cradle of Filth Rehab Center.’ He had to speak quickly to deter Toki from getting on a plane. ‘Tokes, don’t do that to yourself. I’m a mess, you’re a mess. I think we both have a lot of stuff to sort out before we pick up where we left off. Besides, I’m not even allowed visitors in this stage of the program.’

He didn’t protest; he understood.

‘It means the world that you called, Skwis.’ He sounded a little more composed.

‘Please tell me how you’ve been, you’re killing me.’

‘I… spent a long weekend out of town after you left. On a closed ward. Things had gotten a bit out of hand since you guys got me out, what with the drinking instead of getting help. I’m getting treated for depression and PTSD. The shrink I met there is helping me back on my feet. I can’t drink with my meds, so that’s been a bit of a struggle as I’m sure you can imagine. I’m just trying to get my bearing, get into a routine. Since you’ve been gone it’s hard to find a reason to get out of bed. Most days I only do because the hunger the meds cause forces me to. It’s kind of dumb. I need to pick up work again at some point... Not like I’m going to be any good without you, though.’

‘Oh, Toki.’ The wall, at least, felt cool against his burning face even if the tears didn’t.

‘So. Meth, huh?’ He’s gentle and resigned.

‘I’ve been such an idiot. When you were gone it took so much to not feel like shit every day. Booze, drugs, sluts. We knew what we were doing was wrong, but we were cowards, and- I should just have-’ It takes a minute to realize the thumping is his own head hitting the wall. ‘There was no excuse, and this crap was the only thing that made me feel like I had a handle on the guilt.’

‘Shh, it’s okay.’ It’s whispered because none of this is okay. ‘How long are you going to be there?’

‘At least another month.’

A sad sigh.

‘If I do well, I can get outpatient treatment after.’

A door behind him opened and he straightened up, pulling a fake smile out of his ass at the nurse’s concerned look.

‘Hello, I’m fine.’

She signalled for him to wrap it up.

‘I’m out of time.’

‘Call me when you can. And let me know when I can visit.’

‘Promise.’

‘Be good, Skwisgaar.’

‘You, too.’

So much reluctance to hang up the phone- it was physically challenging. As soon as he did, he had to survive another week of not hearing his voice. The nurse’s hand closed over his and put the receiver down. She handed him a box of tissues when he was about to wipe his eyes on his scrubs.

‘It’s lights out in ten, Mr Skwigelf. Are you alright?’

‘When can I have visitors?’

‘That depends on you. Girlfriend eager?’ She nodded towards the phone with a calculating smile. This one would definitely try something if she found out he didn’t have one.

He decided not to take the bait. He wasn’t here to fuck nurses.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who left kudo's and comments here and on tumblr. Love you!


	4. Pain is sweeter coming from your hands

_So fell the lash repeatedly, the icy words cut me deeper still;_   
_I begged for more, you gave no less, surrendering fully to the game._   
  
_Strike me harder now, push me to the ground._   


_Pain is sweeter coming from your hand,  
Don't you leave me when I need you the most._

_When you hurt me the most - Stream of Passion_

 

 

‘Good morning, Skwisgaar, sit down. Let me just grab your file. Did you have a good weekend?’

‘Ja, I guess.’

‘Bloodwork looks good, by the way. So, what have you been up to?’

‘Got to make a phonecall.’

The addiction med specialist remained silent. He was good. Skwisgaar couldn’t stand the silence so he talked.

‘I called Toki.’ A bare nod. He was listening.

‘He was really, how do you say? Gracious. Didn’t judge. Cried a lot though.’

Just say something already. Ask me a question. Alright, fine.

‘Turns out he was glad to hear from me- I was really surprised by that. I’d half expected he never wanted to see me again. He said our housemates had kept him in the dark about where I was because… I’m toxic to him.’

‘Hm.’

‘Well, I am. I’m controlling, jealous, I put him down all the time, I let him down, I leave him to rot in a dungeon-’ Don’t go down that road again, keep it together, he’s heard that story. ‘and he just sticks with me.’

‘Has your relationship always been like that? How long have you been together?’

‘We’re not together, dude. He’s just my… rhythm guitarist. Friend. I don’t know- I don’t have healthy relationships.’

That silence again. He wants to hear what Skwisgaar thinks is important enough to talk about, not satisfy his own curiosity.

‘But no, it wasn’t always like this. When he first joined the band, it was pretty uncomplicated. I was the best and he was second best and that was comfortable. I didn’t really know where he’d been or how he got to where he was. It was just like the music; he followed my lead. Then we got to live together and you’re on each other’s lip all the time without knowing why they do what they do. Things start to irritate.’

‘Like?’

‘It becomes hard to keep the relationship positive. We’re all negative, self-absorbed dicks, except Toki. That makes him an easy target. And…I work really hard to stay on top, you know? He does fuck all and he’s still brilliant. That fucking gets on my nerves.’

‘You’re jealous of his talent even though everyone recognises you as the better guitarist.’

‘Yeah, and it turns me into a tyrant. I trash his skills whenever I can, and he just takes it lying down. I decide everything he does professionally, and he looks to me in everything else he does, too. Like he can’t hold responsibility of his own. We’re so different in that aspect; I’m a perfectionist and he is a dreamer, I don’t care about anything and he cares too much.’

‘About you?’

‘I don’t know, maybe.’

‘Do you think he might have feelings for you?’  

‘No way. That’s g- We like girls.’

‘Okay. I want to get back to what you said about not caring. From what I hear you care a lot about things that are important to you. You don’t become a perfectionist by not caring, and from what I deduce from our talks, Toki is always first and foremost in your thoughts. You guys definitely have that in common, you just express it differently.’

‘Yeah, I do drugs and he tries to kill himself.’

Not that silence again.

‘I thought I’d lost him three times in three months and I can’t-’

‘Don’t fight it, Skwisgaar, it’s been rough.’

 

 

He had left so many things unsaid, but that first phone call had filled him with new hope where the fear used to be.

‘Hello?’

‘Hej, Toki.’

A controlled release of breath. ‘Hej, Skwisgaar.’ Why did he have to sound so goddamned tender. Wasn’t he pissed at all?

‘How has your week been?’

‘I’ve been okay.’ It’s monotonous and it’s a lie. He decided to take a leaf out of his therapist’s book and wait him out. ‘Your call was intense. I’ve been to therapy a lot this week. Stirred up some crap, long story short, more pills.’

‘Shit, I didn’t mean to-’

‘We had to talk again eventually. I feel better for it, all things considered. Wrote some music, too. That was good.’

‘For guitar?’

‘Piano. I haven’t gotten around to that yet.’

‘Pretty cool that you’re writing, is it for Dethklok or something else?’

‘Just some neoclassical crap that’s been in my head.’

‘I’d like to hear it when I get back. Ugh, I really fucking miss my guitar, dude.’

‘You want me to bring it when I come over?’

‘You’re the best.’ An incredulous bark, but no comment. ‘What?’

‘Alright, you can put Skwisgaar back on the phone now. No, seriously, tell me about what you’ve been up to.’

‘Much the same; therapy, popping pills, being bored out of my mind waiting for today.’

‘What happened today?’   

‘You picked up your phone. This is the fucking highlight of my week.’

‘Aren’t you banging the staff or something?’ There’s that flat tone again.

‘They have my medical record; it’s a little off-putting.’

‘Awkward.’ He didn’t sound particularly sympathetic.

‘Hej, Tokes? I know I’ve got a lot of things to apologize for, so I’m really glad that you’re still talking to me.’

‘You’re an idiot for thinking I could get over you for the world- apology or no. How long have we known each other?’

Damn that M.D., now he was reading things into this. ‘I don’t know. Lately it feels like I’m barely scratching the surface of getting to know you. And that’s with the help of professionals.’

‘Call me more often and you actually might.’

‘I’m not allowed.’ That silence was definitely disappointed. ‘But I’ll see what I can do. So, you want to come over in two weeks?’

‘That’s a long fucking wait, Skwis. It’ll have to do, I guess.’

 

 

‘Yes?’ He sounds agitated. It must be the dead of night at Mordhaus.

‘It’s me. I just woke you up, didn’t I?’

‘Not really. I’m off my sleeping meds and I’ve been awake for two fucking days. Why are you whispering?’

‘I’m kind of flying below the radar here.’

‘Because I asked you to call more often?’

‘Hm.’

‘Wow.’

‘You’re not sleeping?’

‘Yeah, it blows. Shrink says it’s because my brain needs to start producing melatonin independently again. So far it’s not working. I’ve been working out like an idiot today in the hopes of getting tired, but no luck. Guess I’ll have to crash eventually.’

‘Maybe you should try jacking off.’ Oh god, why did he say that?

‘Yeah, okay.’ Strange tone, dismissive. Fuck, now he’d weirded him out. 

‘How are you feeling, though?’

‘Honestly? I’ve been missing you. It sucks not having you here.’

‘You miss being pushed around?’ It was meant to be teasing. 

‘I miss the sound of your guitar every moment of the day, I miss intelligent conversation, shitfaced movie-marathons; the works.’ 

The cover of darkness somehow made it easier to get it out.

‘Tokes, are you in love with me?’ Ever since that therapist alluded to it, he had to know. 

Why was he shaking with cold sweat? What was it to him? Every woman in the world was- what was one more guy?

‘I used to be, for the longest time. Years.’ The admission was solemn and hesitant. He’d probably never told anyone before, and how could he have? They were all jerks and homophobes at Mordhaus. Years. Jesus Christ.

‘Not anymore?’

‘I’m all out. I can’t feel a damn thing.’

He sounded so dead inside that Skwisgaar cried on his behalf.

‘Don’t be upset, Skwis. Why did you ask?’

His best friend had been pining for him for years while he abused him to the limit of his endurance.

‘I didn’t think it’d come as such a shock to you, I thought you knew. Please don’t think anything of it. It’s in the past. I still care about you- but in a non- creepy way.’  

He blindly hung up the phone and wept against the wall until the night nurse found him and took him back to his room.

 


	5. Ich will dir mein Herze schenken

_Ich will mich in dir_

_In dir versenken._

_Ist dir gleich die Welt zu klein?_

_Ei, so sollst du mir allein mehr,_

_mehr als Welt und Himmel sein._

_Ich will dir mein Herze schenken – Johann Sebastian Bach_

‘Jesus, Toki, this whole thing must have been a bitter pill for you to swallow. You look like hell.’ Nathan had joined him for lunch in the quiet kitchen.

‘You have no idea how many pills I’m taking.’ It had been a rough night. Skwisgaar had a real penchant for stirring up grief and it had been hard to finally admit that he used to have feelings for him.

‘Are you dealing?’

‘Yeah, I’m dealing with it.’ The alarm on his phone went off and he uncapped the orange bottle of mirtazepine. ‘My shrink is very thorough.’

‘Brutal.’

He piled sandwiches and fruit high onto his plate. The meds and the sleep deprivation gave him a terrible appetite. He’d have to work that off in the gym later.

Nathan awkwardly glanced at his Skwisgaar skullmug.

‘So, you heard he’s coming back in two weeks? I mean, I don’t want to pry, but is that okay with you?’

‘Ja. We’ve talked on the phone a couple of times. I’m supposed to be flying out to see him in a week.’

‘Oh yeah, that’s good to hear, I guess. Have you gotten around to playing yet? He’s going to get on your case, you know that, right?’

‘Just piano.’ He’d fallen out of love with his guitar as well.

‘Well, that’s a start.’

 

 

‘Sign here, Mr Wartooth.’

Skwisgaar waited behind the nurse holding out a clipboard. His white scrubs and pale hair shone against the muted colours of the Victorian building, and goddamn he looked like a seraph all over again. The bitterness of his mouth and the tightness around his eyes had given way to a freer, more sincere expression.

He handed back the clipboard and the nurse disappeared.

He met Skwisgaar’s intense stare, and the most wondrous thing happened; something sparked and guttered briefly in his chest before embarrassment and grief extinguished it again. Things would probably get really weird between them now that Skwisgaar knew.

He unslung the Explorer from his back and held it out without approaching any further, looking anywhere but back at him.

Skwisgaar took the guitar case only to gently set it aside. He gathered him up in a tight hug and there was that spark again. His hair rippled with Skwisgaar’s sigh. God, he was a sucker for hugs. He allowed himself to relax and feel Skwisgaar’s long arms wrapped around his shoulders, the tickle and scent of his hair, both their steady heartbeats against his ribcage.

They didn’t bother with small-talk as Skwisgaar took him down the halls of the clinic. A man with gunmetal curls in a ponytail above a white coat passed them on the opposite end of the hallway. He smiled at Skwisgaar.

‘Hej doc, look who’s come to see me. This is Toki.’

The doctor shook his hand firmly, sharp blue eyes sparkling over his glasses, and wished them a good day.

‘He’s a genius. He knows things.’ Skwisgaar murmured at his retreating back. He was also pretty fit, Toki idly noticed. Good shoulders underneath that coat.

Skwisgaar nudged him. ‘My room is this way.’

 

‘You’d think we’d have a lot more to talk about, judging by all our phone calls.’ Skwisgaar said idly.

Toki had been quiet while he lovingly inspected his guitar; long, slim fingers running along the neck but not playing. He handed it back to Toki. ‘Play something for me. Please.’

‘No, you don’t get it- I always watch you play.’ He laughed dismissively.

‘What are you afraid of?’ There was a challenge, but also genuine interest. Good question. ‘If we’re not going through all this crap to change our dynamic, then what?’

And that was that. He fitted the Explorer against his chest and what came out of his hands was not metal, but the Bach 2-part inventions they had played at his audition. The Explorer was built for the lead, so he played that this time. It modulated into a slower melody which was actually a traverso and oboe coloratura from the Matthäus Passion. His parents had taken him to see it every year in _den stille veka_. It fit.

Skwisgaar smiled while Toki played, and closed his eyes to listen better.

‘What was that second part?’

He shrugged. He didn’t remember the title of the aria; he’d have to look it up when he got home.

‘Go on, Skwis, don’t tell me your fingers aren’t itching.’ He accepted the guitar this time and played the aria back to Toki, improvising on it, harmonising the chords just that much better. ‘Show off,’ he laughed when Skwisgaar stopped. The soprano voice sounded on in his head.

_Ich will mich in dir, in dir versenken. Ist dir gleich die Welt zu klein?_ _Ei, so sollst du mir allein mehr, mehr als Welt und Himmel sein._

_I want to submerge myself in you. Is the world too small for you now? Ah, you alone shall be more than earth and heaven to me._

Oh, hell no. 

 

 

Returning to Mordhaus and leaving Skwisgaar behind at the clinic was awful. On the flight home there had been a lot of feelings warring for his attention. Sadness at having to leave, confusion over pretty much everything from the way Skwisgaar had hung up on him that one night to the way he’d said goodbye. His forehead was still burning with the imprint of his lips. Something had shifted between them in their segregation; all the posturing and distractions obliterated through talking and really listening. It had blown their relationship wide open, leaving room for something new.

He fell asleep on the plane without trying, which was unusually good, and he was surprised when he woke up hard. That wasn’t odd in and of itself, but the fact that it stayed that way for longer than 10 seconds upon regaining consciousness was new.

He had to ignore it for decency’s sake, but once in bed he was kind of hoping it would happen again. Watching porn didn’t do the trick, so he discarded his laptop early on. Mentally undressing Skwisgaar’s physician under the cover of darkness got a response, but didn’t lead anywhere no matter what technique he tried. 

The sound of guitar riffs woke him out of a deep sleep full of confusing imagery and frustrated teeth gnashing.

‘Toki, it’s me. Did you get home alright?’  

‘Yeah. Bit of jet lag but it’s fine.’ He sat up against the headboard, cock stubbornly poking his thigh. He adjusted himself while Skwisgaar said something trivial about flying, trying to ignore the interested twitch his dick gave.

‘So I wrote a bunch of new songs since you left, you want to hear? I’ll put you on speaker.’ Toki had planted Skwisgaar’s Dethphone in his room so he wouldn’t have to sneak out in the dead of the night anymore.

‘Don’t wake up the other patients with your playing, dude.’

‘Those dumb dildos can suck my cock.’ Twitch. Not now. Don’t think about Skwisgaar’s cock.

‘How many songs did you say you wrote?’ Don’t think about it, _god_. Don’t think about his arms around you, or his lips on your skin…

‘Three. Here, listen to this.’ The metallic clack of fretting on unamplified strings filtered through the phone, and he pictured Skwisgaar playing on the edge of his narrow bed in his mind’s eye.

He put his own phone on speaker and tossed it onto the mattress next to him. This was a dreadfully shameful thing to do, but it had been so long, he would take anything. Palming himself through his shorts was nothing short of glorious; the soft cotton sliding across the exposed glans while he rubbed the base of his dick felt so good.

‘Toki, are listening?’

‘Uhuh. Go on.’

He hooked his thumbs underneath the elastic waistband and deliberately pushed it back and forth over the head a couple of times.

‘So obviously that was my part, and then I thought you could do something like this,’ The clacking resumed in a tight rhythm.

He wiggled out of his shorts just in case- he didn’t have any towels lying around. Using the faintest touches to trace the length of his cock he was driving himself mad with arousal, but he did not want to screw this up.

‘What did you think of that?’

‘Yeah, it’s good. What more?’ Skwisgaar obliged eagerly.

When he finally closed his fist around his cock he was so close he could hardly contain himself. He tried to pace his strokes but his hips started bucking into his fist of their own volition and

‘Oh _god_ ,’

It was cathartic but incredibly painful. His pelvic floor imploded like it meant to crush his balls. Semen flowed between his fingers onto his abs and he frantically felt for his shorts.

Skwisgaar stopped playing. ‘ _Oh god_ , what?’

‘Uh, that was a really brutal riff.’ He tried to get his breathing under control while wiping at his skin with his underpants.

‘You liked that?’

He laughed to himself at the unintentional innuendos passing back and forth, giddy with the endorphins that flooded his starved brain.

‘Toki, are you drunk?’

‘No!’

‘High?’

‘It’s… all natural. I’m just happy you called.’

‘Alright... Well, I also have this in mind,’

By the time Skwisgaar stopped playing Toki was dead asleep. 

‘Toki. Tokes? Pffft. Sleep well, I guess.’ _Click_.

 


	6. Take my hand and I'll lead you astray

_Take my hand and I’ll lead you astray, for it’s the only way_

_Let’s give in to our growing desire, go down with a blazing fire_

_We need to burn_

_And reach the point of no return_

_Neverlasting – Sentenced_

 

 

Toki’s visit had been pivotal in the change that had been taking place in him over the last couple of weeks. The physical isolation had amplified his mental isolation, and Toki had been his lifeline.

 

Despite his popularity as an artist and with women, it was telling that he had been completely alone for two months. Nathan hadn’t been there for him so much as to let him know just how badly he had fucked up, and that was it. The only person in the world who cared about him intrinsically was Toki.

 

He’d been in denial for a long time, and for all his musical hearing, he had only just opened his ears to what the universe had been trying to tell him for a long time through casual observations of others.

 

 

Toki had looked as ragged as the day they first met; timid, lost, carrying nothing but a guitar case. Skwisgaar had tried to meet his eyes, but he cast them around and held the Explorer between them.

 

The guitar wasn’t his number one priority here, so he’d set it aside. He did what he should have done all those years ago. He embraced him, hugging his short, solid frame tightly. There was no such thing as caring too much. Not where it concerned Toki.

 

 

 

He knew the Matthäus Passion, of course he did. He also knew its message well. Bach was the ultimate classical composer, his music always sounded great on guitar. And it was music history 101. He was listening now, paying attention to what Toki was trying to convey without words. He wasn’t ready to speak it aloud yet, but Skwisgaar could wait. Or take it slow.

The afternoon was appallingly short, and he felt terrible about having to wait another week to go home to Mordhaus, to Toki. When the nurse came in to tell Toki it was time he regretted wasting all their time with music talk.

The hallways started to darken with the setting sun and they dawdled ay the front desk as long as possible.

‘See you next week, Skwis.’ Toki held up his hand in greeting. He looked as sad about the departure as Skwisgaar felt, but he underwent it with resignation. Skwisgaar couldn’t let him go so casually.

Grabbing his other hand he slowly reeled him in. ‘I’ll call you, okay?’

The low light glanced off Toki’s downcast eyelashes. Skwisgaar took his chin between his fingers and tilted his face up. Toki’s eyes widened frighteningly. Shit, abort, abort.

Planting a chaste kiss on his forehead instead he felt Toki’s hand tighten around his.

 

 

Home, finally.

‘Shall I take your bags, my lord?’

There was a loud bang and a clatter down the hallway and the sound of bare feet running. Toki rounded the corner like an excited overgrown pup, and it was the best thing to see him so high-spirited again.

‘Skwisgaar!’

Oh shit, he was going to jump at him. He dropped his bags just in time to brace against Toki’s weight and catch him in his arms. There was a little scuffle as he overbalanced and Toki wrapped his arms and legs tightly around Skwisgaar’s upper body.

He had to use his full strength to support Toki’s legs and he laughed between gasps of breath. Toki rested his forehead against his and for a moment they hovered on the verge of something profound.

Unable to reach, he had to wait for Toki to go the distance. The suspended vulnerability of that moment was torture, but Toki came through, like he knew he would.

And when he did, all hell broke loose. Toki started pawing at his clothes and he closed his hands on Toki’s ass, squeezing it aggressively, carrying him to the nearest wall and slamming him against it. Toki let out a needy moan and they became a tangle of tongues and limbs, hair and teeth and nails.

‘Whoa! Jesus!’

‘Looks like we missed something!’

‘Looks like they missed something...’

They stopped kissing to briefly glower at the intruders.

‘Your room or mine?’

‘Mine is closest, let’s go.’

‘Hej pals, I’m back, see you later!’ He called over his shoulder to their baffled band mates while Toki dragged him down the hallway.

 

They only made it to Toki’s desk, relocating the clutter in one sweeping motion. He grabbed Toki’s ass and lifted him onto the table top while the door fell shut behind them.  His body felt so different from two months ago; strong and healthy and alive. Toki braced his boots on the edge of the desk on either side of his hips and wrapped his arms around his neck. Skwisgaar pushed into his open legs to capture his mouth. It was such a delicious confusion of sensations. Fingertips raked his scalp, teeth nipped at his lip, hips ground into his abdomen.

Feeling the muscles of Toki’s back ripple with his bucking as he slowly removed his shirt made him go out of his mind with want, and he grabbed the waistband of Toki’s pants to pull him impossibly close. Toki keened when he started tonguing one of his nipples while rubbing his cock against his ass.

This was escalating way too quickly.

‘Toki,’ He panted, ‘are we going too fast?’

‘Are you serious? I’ve been waiting for this for more than five years.’

Toki crowded into his space to get off the desk and undress him with efficient movements, ripping off his shirt and tugging down his pants like there was a time limit. Skwisgaar grabbed his hands when he moved on to his own fly, and stopped him. He knelt, taking his time to run his hands along Toki’s thighs, followed by his lips as he shoved his pants down.

Toki pulled him to his feet and pushed him onto the bed, hands mapping his body without reprieve as they tumbled.

Toki covered Skwisgaar’s body with his own and kissed him like he would disappear any minute, their skin sliding against each other with every explorative movement. Skwisgaar rolled his hips to rub his dick against Toki’s through their underwear, and it was weird, but so long overdue that he didn’t freak out over the obvious masculinity of his body. Toki’s cock seemed to be pushing its way out of his boxers of its own accord.

‘Skwisgaar, you need to fuck me now or I’m going to come in my pants.’

Yeah, slight problem there. Ironically, the most promiscuous man in the world had no idea how to please the love of his life.

‘I’m not sure what to do.’ Breathing was hard with Toki’s solid weight on top of him.

‘What?’ Toki stopped kissing his jaw.

‘You’ve got to tell me how you want it.’ What a great ass, holy hell. He gave it another tight squeeze.

‘Alright, don’t go anywhere. Get naked.’ He looked amused and a little surprised as he sat up, and the feverish blush on his cheeks was adorable.

Rummaging through his pants and a drawer Toki couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for, but he eventually returned from the bathroom to toss him a condom and a bottle of lube. The apprehension must have shown on his face, because Toki grinned at him.

‘What, you didn’t think I was going to let you bareback me, did you?’ He unselfconsciously shucked his underpants and it was the hottest thing ever.

‘I’ve never used one of these in my life!’

‘Exactly.’

‘I got treated, you know.’ He protested feebly as Toki lubed up his dick and rolled down the condom. He had a strong grip and that was hard to resist for more than one reason.

‘Yeah, we’ll see about that.’ He lay back on his elbows.

This part was familiar. Kneeling between Toki’s legs he hauled him across his lap by his narrow hips in an echo of earlier. Toki obligingly wrapped his legs around his waist, panting in anticipation. He slowly ran his hand across Toki’s abs, lightly brushing his twitching cock.

‘Hold out your hand.’ Toki instructed.

He closed his fist to warm up the cold lube. The corner of Toki’s mouth quivered when Skwisgaar stroked his thumb along his crack, spreading lube across his hole and experimentally sinking his finger in. He groaned and pushed back on his hand, and _god_ , his heated expression was such a beautiful sight that it was either bend over and kiss him again or have his heart explode.

Reaching between them, Toki grabbed Skwisgaar’s dick to rub the tip across the swollen ridge of his entrance until neither of them could stand it anymore. Skwisgaar breached him with a swift thrust.

There were tears leaking out of the corners of Toki’s eyes. He stilled himself with the greatest effort.

‘Are you alright, älskling? You sure you want this?’

He nods fervently, biting his bottom lip. If he’s crying it’s because he is moved.

‘Good, in that case I’m going to fuck you until you’re seeing the cosmos.’

Once he started moving it was no holds barred. He ransacked Toki’s body and Toki begged for more at the top of his lungs.

Someone thumped on the wall behind them for them to keep it down, but it was impossible.

Toki came screaming and thrashing and he followed suit with his lips smushed into Toki’s forehead.

 

 

The sound of guitar riffs shrilled from somewhere inside Toki’s discarded pants. Skwisgaar disentangled himself from Toki’s sweaty limbs to reach for it. The screen said it was a reminder for his medication.

‘It’s time to take your pills.’

‘It’s cool, I don’t need them anymore.’ He did look good, fucking radiant, but still.

Skwisgaar located the orange bottle and fetched a glass of water from the bathroom.

‘It’s been said my dick has legendary properties,’ he said with a furtive grin, ‘but I never heard of it ‘curing’ depression. Take the pills, Tokes.’

If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through the painful and charged themes of this story. I hope you enjoyed nonetheless, and let me know what you think. I live for feedback ;)


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